


Dudley's Daughter: Arc 2

by theinkwell33



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, Conspiracy, Death Eaters, Divination, Dudley accidentally infiltrates a Death Eater revival group, Elder Wand is Missing, F/M, Gen, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Not Canon Compliant - Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Prophecy, Secret Organizations, The Deathly Hallows, Undercover Draco Malfoy, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-10-09 00:06:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17396327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinkwell33/pseuds/theinkwell33
Summary: DISCONTINUED.Sequel to Dudley's Daughter: Arc 1. As Amelia Dursley starts her second year at Hogwarts, she's pulled into a dangerous conspiracy regarding the Deathly Hallows, and her role may be critical to putting an end to dark magic once and for all. Meanwhile, Harry Potter is searching for the missing Elder Wand, but it may be closer than he thinks.





	1. Things Foreseen

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been discontinued.

There was nothing in this world as wonderful as flying.

Amelia Dursley soared through the summer air on her borrowed broom, her light hair billowing behind her. To her left, her cousin, James Potter, angled his own broom to avoid hitting a tree and shot downward until his feet were on the ground again.

"I think I'm done," he called up to her, "it's almost time for lunch!"

"Give me one minute," she called back. Rather than head straight for the ground, Amelia chose a quick detour. She aimed upward instead, climbing as high and as steep as she could into the August blue sky. There were some days during their flying lessons when she really thought she'd reach it.

When the Comet 380 broom began to shudder beneath her, she sighed in minor resignation and began her descent. It wouldn't do to fall off her broom from this high up, and it seemed the old Comet couldn't withstand much beyond that altitude anyway.

While she and James were both wizards, neither of them were good enough with magic yet to stay a fall from a great height, and there wasn't a guarantee that Uncle Ron would get to either of them in time to perform the proper momentum-slowing enchantments. Ginny, James' mother and their flight tutor for the summer, probably could have saved them should the occasion arise, but at the moment she was helping Albus pack for Hogwarts, and only came out to check on them intermittently. At this point in their training, she trusted them on their own.

Throughout the summer, James and Amelia had been learning Quidditch under Ginny's instruction. Both of them were set on trying out for the Gryffindor house team, and with a professional Quidditch player teaching them the proper skills, they would have quite the advantage upon their return to school. Amelia was extremely excited to continue her education at Hogwarts; she'd be starting her second year alongside James in just two days.

They'd had a very eventful first year. Amelia had discovered she was a Harbinger, a Seer who made prophecies connected to Death. But this was one of the least earth-shattering conclusions the past twelve months had yielded. Among the others was the knowledge that Harry Potter, James' father, was the Master of Death, associated with the real Deathly Hallows everyone talked about. Not to mention, Harry himself had helped James, Amelia, and their friends rescue Bridget, an American exchange student, from a family curse that would have resulted in her death. Now that the Blood Bond magic between Bridget and her ancestor, one of the first Dark Witches, was lifted, Bridget was no longer possessed, and she was back home in Salem, healing from the traumatic ordeal.

All summer, she sent both Amelia and James regular letters via owl post (the owls had arrived exhausted, covered in sea spray, and vaguely cross-eyed). One eventually arrived last week, telling them Bridget wouldn't be returning to Hogwarts. Understandably, her adoptive family wanted to keep her closer to home, where she was now old enough to attend the Salem Witches' Institute. This also meant her place in Ravenclaw would be vacated, which was something James and Amelia found disappointing. However, their sadness was likely eclipsed by Bean's, a fellow Ravenclaw and their friend, who'd likely be sad to be alone in his house. Bean incidentally was also half-vampire, a secret that had come to light after a series of incidents involving his lost amulet, the Bloodstone. The amulet allowed him to blend in as human, rather than crave blood, and without it, Bean had suffered. When it was recovered, he eventually used it to save Bridget's life, but at a cost. With the Bloodstone's power now expended, Bean was succumbing once again to his nature, and this coming year would need to do so without the support of someone in his house.

Thankfully, the remaining friends still had each other. James and Amelia wrote letters to Bean all summer. He'd mused about going out for the Quidditch team as well, so Amelia had passed along both Ginny's tips and her own advice. For example, today's lesson would include learning the height limits of brooms.

When Amelia's feet touched the ground again, she propped up her broom along the side of the house beside James'. He'd already gone back inside the Potter house, and when Amelia followed suit, she found a plate of ham sandwiches and fresh lemonade already on the table.

James sat at the table with Uncle Ron, Lily, and Albus. Ginny was bustling between rooms, holding freshly laundered sets of robes that were undoubtedly for Albus' suitcase.

"-and one of the brains grabbed me, like this," Uncle Ron was saying, demonstrating with a gesture. "And-"

"Oh, Ron, don't tell them that, you'll scare them," admonished Ginny. "No one wants to hear about murder brains."

"Actually," said James, "we do."

"Make them stop, please," Lily protested, wrinkling her nose.

"Ron, you're going to make them never want to set foot in the Ministry. It may have been questionable back when you were a fifth year, but it isn't like that anymore," Ginny sighed, sitting down at the table beside him and making herself a plate of sandwiches.

Amelia, who had been fascinated by the mysterious brain story, had forgotten entirely about the food. Suddenly ravenous, she stacked a plate high and began to eat.

Ron smirked. "You forget I'm an Auror; I know things. The Department of Mysteries  _definitely_  still has those brains."

"I don't forget, you remind me at every opportunity," Ginny replied. "But maybe hold off on the brains until they're old enough? I don't want you to give Albus or Lily any nightmares."

"What about me?" demanded James. "What if I get nightmares?"

"Even after what you saw in that forest, you haven't had a single one," Ginny pointed out. "I'm not sure whether to be impressed or concerned at your resilience. It must be genetic or something. In short, I'm not worried about you. Eat your sandwich."

"Where do the brains come from?" asked Amelia.

Ginny shot her brother a look as if to say,  _all yours._ Ron sighed. "Dunno," he said. "They're just there. The Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries never talk about it. I think it's confidential. But I've definitely seen them. They're still there. A cool adventure for you and James to have when you're older. Given your track record from last year, you're bound to end up doing something just as morbid and dangerous someday. The brains might even look tame in comparison."

"Wicked," breathed James. His mother gave an exasperated huff.

"Stop making me jealous," Albus mumbled over his glass of lemonade. He took a sip and looked up to stare right at Amelia with his bright eyes. "Is Hogwarts really like that? As dangerous as James said? Am I going to have adventures too?"

"Stick with us and something's bound to happen," Amelia smiled. "Although, hopefully it won't involve any more dark magic. I've seen enough of that."

"Nobody told me the whole story," protested Albus. "I want to know what actually happened to Bridget. Is dark magic really the reason why she's not coming back?"

James regarded Albus with a stare of brotherly outrage. "I didn't tell you that. Did you read my letters?"

"Yeah. Nobody in this family tells me anything. Honestly. How else am I supposed to figure out what's going on?"

"That's a Slytherin move, Al," snapped James, but the expression on his face turned to regret as soon as he said it.

Albus gave him a punctured, betrayed look, shoved away from the table, and stalked upstairs. Silently, Lily cleared both their plates and went to join him. The table suddenly felt a lot smaller when it was just James and Amelia in front of the adults.

"James," Ginny began in a disapproving tone.

He ducked his head. "Sorry."

"You know he's sensitive about that. Especially right now."

"I didn't mean anything by it," James argued. "Being Slytherin isn't a bad thing."

"But it used to be, and your father isn't the best at explaining why it's not full of dark wizards anymore. Albus is worried."

Amelia frowned. "Was it really like that when you were at Hogwarts? The books about those years at the school didn't really say."

Ginny's expression softened. "Somewhat, yes. Lots of Death Eaters' kids. Including Draco Malfoy. Although I think he's distanced himself from his past by now, according to Harry."

Amelia and James exchanged an ominous look that Ron did not fail to notice.

"What is it?" he asked, eyebrow raised. "Have you heard something different?"

"No," they lied.

Ron remained unconvinced, but there was a triumph in his tone as he said, "I see. This isn't about him; it's about Scorpius."

There was a tense silence.

Amelia fidgeted with her shirt collar. "How-" she stammered.

"-I'm an Auror," Ron reminded them again, while Ginny rolled her eyes. "I'm also not an idiot," he continued, "and I know when my interrogation tactics are working. You two are hiding something."

Ginny put her head in her hands. "Ron, no interrogating the kids."

"No, it's fine," Amelia said. James regarded her with bewildered caution. She proceeded anyway. They might as well know. "We think Scoripus is up to something bad."

"Something villainous." James supplied.

"How can you know that if you haven't sent him a single letter all summer?" asked Ginny.

His indignant expression returned. "Not you too! Is  _nothing_  in my letters private? Merlin's beard!"

Amelia finally had the presence of mind to feel uncomfortable. She hadn't thought up a reasonable answer to Ginny's question without admitting they'd lied.

James stepped in, gesturing with a thumb toward Amelia. "She had a vision. Back in June. She saw some stuff."

Ron and Ginny leaned forward. "Stuff?" they inquired unanimously.

"Well, Amelia doesn't remember doing it, but I was there when it happened. She told me she saw Scorpius going Dark."

"What?" said Ron.

James clarified. "Like into Dark Magic. She saw him fighting against us, and then she said he was standing over a body. He looked evil."

There was a long moment where Amelia was almost sure she saw a flash of fear cross Ginny's face, but then it was replaced with her signature stoic stare. Ron did nothing to hide his shock.

"Why in the name of Merlin's saggy socks," he began, "didn't you tell us this in June?"

"Were you  _ever_  going to tell us?" added Ginny, her lips thin and pinched.

Amelia had to clarify. "We were afraid to. I'm still getting used to being a Seer, and I can't trust my visions yet. I don't know if they're always reliable. But this scared us."

Ginny sat back, dumbfounded. "All the more reason to tell us, Amelia. Or at least tell your father and have him discuss it with us. This is serious. Being a Seer, or rather, a Harbinger of Death, is a heavy burden and I urge you not to manage it alone. You have a lot of people who are capable of helping you; I'm frankly shocked you didn't ask us for help, or at least talk about this with us."

Ron chuckled. "You're shocked that two second-year Gryffindors didn't seek help from adults? Do you remember what I was like then? Or Harry? Or  _you_?"

At this, everyone at least smiled, but there was a subtle darkness in Ginny's eyes that hadn't been there before.

"I think my father will be here soon," Amelia said to change the subject to something lighter. "It's almost two, so I should get ready to leave. Thanks for having me over."

"I'll help you gather your stuff," offered James, and the two of them took their dishes to the sink. Neither Ginny nor Ron moved from the table, their heads bent in quiet discussion. James ushered her outside to get her satchel, which was draped on a lawn chair. Two curious garden gnomes were swinging at it with stubby arms, neither of them tall enough to reach it. She nudged them away gently with the toe of her sneaker.

"Are you going to invite Scorpius to come to Diagon Alley tomorrow?" she asked.

"No, I thought we agreed-"

"-Yeah, no, I know. I just…hope he isn't mad we haven't talked to him. We're going to see him a lot at Hogwarts, it's not like he stops being in Gryffindor. He doesn't stop being our friend, even if he's going to be against us in the future."

James looked thoughtful. "I really hope that doesn't happen."

"Me too." She looped her fingers through the leather strap of her satchel. Who knew what he'd been up to this summer? He could have already delved deep into the dark arts with his father at his side, for all they knew. She wondered if that was a lonely path to follow. But if her predictions were correct, he would still choose it.

Something nagged at her though. If he wasn't at that point yet, what happened to him in the meantime to make him do so?

Perhaps they'd been wrong not to write to him all summer. She'd always felt guilty for it yet pushed it down, but here it was, resurfacing again. But she didn't know of another option; after what happened to Bridget, Amelia personally wanted to stay as far away from dark magic as possible. She was all for adventures, but this was different. This was serious. They had to keep Scoripius at a distance.

A car door slammed in the distance; her father was here. She hugged James goodbye, thanked Ginny and Ron again, and minutes later was fastening her seatbelt inside her father's car.

He smiled at her, blissfully unaware of the future that was brewing in the distance. Not for the first time, Amelia wondered if that would always be the case.


	2. Things Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been said no man is an island unto himself, and no action takes place in a vacuum. Scorpius Malfoy disagrees with this statement, Amelia Dursley doesn't understand its meaning, and Harry Potter probably wishes it wasn't true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry for the long wait, and thank you for your patience! Advance apologies for the sadness in this chapter, but it has to happen...

In the dim morning light of late August, Scorpius Malfoy woke up on the floor of his room.  He was wrapped and tangled in his sheets like some mummy, and his hip throbbed from where he’d landed on it.  It wasn’t the first time he’d fallen out of bed while dreaming, but it had been happening more and more frequently of late.  On these occasions, it always took him a moment of half-awake panic before he realized he was at home, and not in the dim hallway he kept dreaming about.   

When Scorpius had recollected his wits enough to determine that yes, the fibers of his expensive white rug were still pressed up against his cheek, his eyes drifted over to where a set of shiny black leather shoes stood in the doorway.  His father. 

“Scorpius, I heard a crash.  What are you doing?” 

“I fell,” he said lamely, and wrestled his way out of the sheets, spinning around until he could lean back against the side of the bed.  Now that he could see his father properly, he noticed the all-black robes, the long sleeves even in the summer, and the pale expression on his face. 

Scorpius knew the reason for each of these.  He’d had all summer to understand the subtle meanings. 

For instance, black had become an unofficial Malfoy color, especially after Scorpius had been sorted into Gryffindor.  Black was ambiguous, a good thing for him after the Slytherin green was no longer something the Malfoy family could lay claim to.  Leave it to Scorpius to break that streak.  The first Gryffindor Malfoy _ever_.  And if his first year was any inclination, perhaps this wasn’t such a bad thing.  It was time for the family to rise from the reputation of dark wizardry that had plagued it for so long. 

The long sleeves his father often wore were also a part of this gesture.  Their sole purpose was to cover the Dark Mark that had once dyed the skin of Draco Malfoy’s left arm.  Over the years, the tattoo had faded from the dark ink to a white scar, but the outline still remained and probably would forever.  Scorpius knew his father turned away from the Death Eater mentality long ago, but some things in one’s past can never be truly erased.  By hiding the scar of a darker time in his life, Scorpius believed his father was motivated to move on from it.  It was admirable, though some part of him wished it had never been necessary in the first place.  What would it have been like to grow up with a father who had _never_ been on the wrong side?  To grow up with the Potters for parents?  And that last thought conjured an ache in his chest as he remembered James…Amelia…his friends, whom he hadn’t talked to all summer.

Well, he’d sent them letters.  They just hadn’t replied.

And that was probably the worst part.  Because right now, Scorpius needed friends more than ever.  He was alone and scared, and his father didn’t know how to help.  Draco didn’t sleep or eat, and was hardly ever home.  When he was home, he spent it all in the east wing of the mansion, sometimes calling Scorpius in to join him in his vigil.  From the look on his father’s face, Scorpius had a feeling today was one of the last days the vigil would be necessary.

There was no mistaking the cause. His mother was dying, and she didn’t have much time left.

The illness had come quickly, and nobody was really sure what had caused it.  Magical illnesses were so capricious, especially rare ones.  Healers from St. Mungo’s had looked after her since the symptoms began at the start of the summer, but they were at a loss as to the cure.

Scorpius had watched his mother deteriorate over the past few weeks, writing letter after letter to anyone who might be able to talk to him, to at least provide some sympathy, a distraction, _something_.  

He’d originally thought Amelia might be able to research Muggle diseases in case that was the real problem, and he’d thought maybe the Potters might know what to do if it was a magical illness.  But when there was no response, he stopped sending letters.  There was no point, and no one else to talk to.  Bridget had moved back to Salem, and Bean was spending the summer with her while sorting out the dangers of his half-vampire nature under his father's guidance.  That left Amelia and James, though the hope they'd respond at all had dried up too.

Therefore, Scorpius retreated into the shadows of the mansion, venturing between dusty rooms, watching his mother slowly drift away to a place neither he nor his father would be able to follow.  Scorpius could tell his father was preparing to take on the full burden of her absence, but that wouldn’t prevent Scorpius from feeling its weight anyway. Right now, he felt like Atlas preparing to take up the world on his shoulders.

“We need to take your mother to St. Mungo’s,” his father announced.  His eyes were so light in the morning sun that they almost looked colorless.  Scorpius grabbed a bit of the sheet beside him and squeezed, trying to keep his face impassive.  He didn’t want to cry, not yet.

“It’s time?”

His father nodded.  “I’m sorry.”

Scorpius stood up slowly, fighting to breathe.  “Okay.  I’ll get my shoes.”  He didn’t know what else to say.  There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t sound too mundane for this kind of situation.

Hours passed.  After quite some time, Scorpius sat on a hard bench outside his mother’s room in St. Mungo’s.  His father sat beside him, head leaned back against the wall, eyes closed.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“How much longer do you think she has?”

“I don’t know.”

“She wouldn’t be in here if it wasn’t bad, right?”

His father sighed and opened his eyes.  “There are some things magic can’t fix.”

“What’s going to happen when it’s just you and me?” Scorpius asked.  “I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

His father put an icy hand on his shoulder.  Scorpius felt the cold seep through his clothes and into his bones.  Not in a bad way, but a pervasive one; Scorpius suspected he’d feel its grasp for a long time afterward.

“You’ll have me, Scorpius, you’re going to have me.  And I’m going to do my best to be someone worth having.”

It was the first time in a long time that Scorpius felt like his father was _his_ father.  Not just some stiff adult presence who made sure he did his summer work for school and bought groceries and disapproved of his life choices.  Right now, Scorpius felt like he had a _dad_ again.  Someone who would hug him, be the stronger one, and tell him things would be okay when they both knew they wouldn’t be.

He tentatively leaned against the hand on his shoulder, tucking his head so it rested there.  His father didn’t pull away.  At least, not until the alarms went off.

They all emanated from his mother’s room.  Scorpius felt his stomach drop, and suddenly everything felt too loud, too close, too much.

As the Healers began to rush inside with a flurry of multicolored robes and flourishing wands, Scorpius felt the edges of his vision begin to prickle.  He couldn’t get enough air.  He _knew_ what was happening in there.  But his mind still posed the question.  

_Is this it?_

* * *

At the same moment, Amelia, who had been packing for her trip to Diagon Alley, dropped the bag she’d been holding.  It fell to the floor with a small thump, but she didn’t hear it.  Her eyes glazed over, and as she pressed her hands to her head in a reflexive gesture, she screamed.

In the past, Amelia had never remembered her visions or prophecies, but this time she was keenly aware of everything that transpired.

_Her father’s worried hands on her shoulders, of him mouthing words but no sound reaching her shattering ears._

_Her scream, which seemed to reverberate against the walls of her brain._

_The poem – the prophecy - tumbling from her lips like some eloquent curse._

She was aware of it all.  Perhaps those exercises from Professor Trelawney had begun to work after all, though Amelia had no time to contemplate them now.  Instead, she passed out from the overwhelming sensations that Seeing brought.

The oblivion didn’t last long.  A few minutes later, she woke shivering, with her yellow dress pressed against her back with cold sweat.  Her head was flat against the wood floor of her bedroom, and she pressed a flushed cheek against the cool surface.  Her mother put a cool cloth against her forehead and her father held her hand.  How was it possible to be burning and shivering at the same time?

Then the aftershock headache hit, and she was unconscious again.

When she woke up, it was dark outside and she was in bed.  A whole day had passed, it seemed, and this time Amelia didn’t have to rely on anyone else to tell her whose death she’d Seen.  Shaking the horrible memory of it from her mind, Amelia took stock in her very real surroundings, grateful the ordeal was now passed.  She was reassured to see a glass of water lay on the nightstand, along with a note from her father.  James had gathered her supplies from Platform 9 ¾ and they were downstairs, ready to be packed in her trunk the following day.

There’d be no frolicking through Diagon Alley this year.  No begging her father for ice cream at Fortescue II, no laughing as he blundered around Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes while trying not to set anything on fire or run into George, whom, as she fondly remembered, he’d punched in the face last year.

It seemed that Amelia’s second year of school was determined to start off with far less fanfare.  But when she reflected back on her vision, perhaps it was better that way.  If she thought the close of her summer was terrible, she had nothing on Scorpius Malfoy.

After spending all summer filing Scorpius’ unopened letters in a box under her bed, she’d been ignoring the guilt that came with isolating him for fear he was going Dark.  But now she realized she and James had abandoned Scorpius just before he needed them the most.  Had he written them about his mother?  About how she was dying?  With horror, Amelia thought back on all the times she’d tossed the letters into the box without a second thought, having no concept of the strife and loneliness he must have felt.  All her life, she’d prided herself on being a good person, but maybe that wasn’t true anymore.  Amelia was afraid to pry open the box of letters to find out the full extent of her crimes.  It would only make her feel worse, and what good would it do now?

At this point, the chasm was too wide to cross, despite how much Amelia longed to write to him immediately and apologize for not being there.  To extend a hand.  But it would be too little too late, a scene of pity rather than a genuine offer of help.  Scorpius wouldn’t want to accept that; Amelia knew he wouldn’t.  How could she ever salvage their friendship now?  At twelve, she was learning something everyone must - she had made a terrible mistake, and would have to deal with the consequences.

She did consider one more thing as an afterthought.  Perhaps the death of his mother could have been the trigger for Scorpius’ future downfall in the first place.  If that was the case, Amelia resolved to stay far away from the action until the dust settled.  It seemed inevitable that if she stuck her hands into it, she would only make things worse.  Perhaps it was best to consider her friendship with Scorpius lost at this point.

She wondered whether her choice to draw back from Scorpius would have unintended results, but as is the great irony and curse of prophecy, she couldn’t see that far ahead.

* * *

The last thing Harry Potter expected to see on the last night of August was a haggard Draco Malfoy standing outside his front door.  For someone usually so put together, Draco was a far cry from his usual appearance.  He looked like he’d been hit by the Knight Bus.  His black collared shirt was dusty and untucked, his black robes were worn and fraying around his ankles, his hair clung to his forehead in matted tangles, and his eyes were rimmed red.  He didn’t appear to be blinking.

If this was grief on Draco Malfoy, it was a terrible look.  Harry had spent many long years of his life hating him, but this pitiable image made it impossible to dismiss how much Draco had suffered lately.  Harry had never been close to Astoria Malfoy, but her passing was well known to him at this point.  First, there had been the frantic message from Dudley, then the flurry of owls between James and Amelia, and then the obituary in the Daily Prophet.

And now this.

“Can I come in?” Draco managed, his voice a dry croak.

Feeling a sense of déjà vu, Harry glanced at where Ginny stood in the hall, as if checking to be sure it was a good idea to permit entry.  They’d had this exact exchange last year, only Dudley had been on the other side of the door with the news that Amelia was a witch.  It was funny how things echoed back to you.

Ginny sighed as if to say, _let’s get this over with._  She still had a cold disposition when it came to Draco Malfoy, though she was less likely now to send a hex in his direction than she had been at sixteen.

Harry turned to Draco and nodded.  “What’s this about?”

He swung open the door, and Draco nearly fell inside.  It was fairly clear he hadn’t slept in a while.

“Scorpius doesn’t know that I’m here.  Please don’t tell him.”

Ginny offered, “Why don’t you come sit down?”

They guided Draco to the dining room, where he collapsed like a marionette into a wooden chair.  Harry sat at the head of the table, and Ginny chose the seat across from him, where she could stare him full in the face.  She still didn’t trust him.  Harry wasn’t sure if he did either, but he was in no position to bring this up at the present time.

“What do you want?” he asked Draco again.

Draco regarded him with pale eyes like chips of ice.  “I know about your mission.  I know about the undercover operation.”

Harry sat back in his chair, astounded.  “How do _you_ know about that?”

Draco fidgeted with his fingers, twisting them without noticing that he was doing it.  “Your secretary let something slip when he was in my office the other day.  Don't worry about it.  But, Potter…I want in.”

“What – why are you – who – no.  No.  Absolutely not.”  Harry was so taken aback he was rendered nearly incoherent.  "I'm going to have to have a serious talk with Quentin.  Unbelievable."

Draco’s expression turned pleading.  “Look, I…need something to do.  Please.  Anything.  I’m going mad in that basement in the Ministry – all I do is sit with my guilt and my thoughts and my grief.  I’m going mad at home, and I’ll be trapped in that giant house with the echoes of my dead wife and my son’s empty room.  After he leaves for Hogwarts, I don’t know how I can sit in that place for a moment longer.  I need to do something else, to distract myself, because otherwise I don’t think I’m going to survive this alone.”

Ginny’s mouth was hanging open.  Harry watched Draco for a few silent moments, shocked.  This speech was jarringly honest and an abnormal expression of his character.  Nobody could go without saying so.

“Are you on drugs?” demanded Ginny.

“Polyjuice Potion?” added Harry.

“No,” Draco huffed.  “I’m just...desperate.  Tired.  Distressed.  And,” he shot a glare between the two of them, “now I’m getting annoyed.”

“Huh,” said Ginny, flushing after her outburst, but unapologetic.  Harry watched Draco carefully for signs of impersonation, but no, the latent haughtiness even on the face of someone with so much grief couldn’t be faked.  Getting up the courage to visit Harry, even after their partial reconciliation last year, would have taken a lot of swallowed pride, and nobody but the real Draco Malfoy could simultaneously express both imperious arrogance and cowed embarrassment in the current manner.

Harry was then struck not only by how well he understood Draco’s request to join the operation, but at his desire to grant it.  After losing so many people in his life, he was well aware of the need to forget, the need to plunge oneself into work, the need to keep busy, because the quiet moments when the dust settled were the ones when weaponized emotions struck at last, like hungry beasts eager to tear down the carefully constructed walls of dissociation.

Draco seemed to notice Harry was staring and rolled his eyes.   “It’s a simple request.  I’m offering my services.  You know what I can do, and I am probably the best person for the job.  Please.  It will probably save my life.  And I need to live, because Scorpius deserves better than a dead mother and a distant father.  I promised him I’d be better.”

Harry considered this, inclined to accept but not wanting to prove too eager.  For one thing, having Draco on his undercover team would be an unexpected asset, and for another, it was a way to keep an eye on Scorpius.  After Ron and Ginny told him what Amelia had predicted, he knew something strange was afoot with the Malfoys, and if Scorpius was to go Dark as the prophecy stated, it would be best to have Draco within his sight just in case.

With the crickets chirping outside in the warm evening air, the silence stretched on until Harry finally acquiesced.

“Fine, you’re on the team.  But if you’re going to work with Ron and me, we’re going to need to establish some ground rules.  Remember, for all we know, you’re just an ex-Death Eater.  He doesn’t trust you still.  And I’m not quite sure I do.  But believe me now: if you betray us, we will arrest you.  And you’re going to have to report everything you do undercover to me and Ron.  We’re not letting you just go off alone.  Are we clear?”

It was a testament to Draco’s desperation that instead of sneering, as Harry expected, he actually laughed.

“Yeah.  Okay,” Draco confirmed, running his hands through his unkempt hair.  He then seemed to realize how strange he was acting, because he put his hands down slowly and fixed Harry with a more in-character stony stare.  “And – you must never tell anyone I came to you.  Nobody except you and Weasley can know I’m helping.”  His eyes slid to Ginny, and he amended, “Well, and you, obviously.”

“Even though this is something that reflects well on you?” Ginny arched an eyebrow.  “You don’t want anyone to know you have an actual heart?  That you’re trying to be better?”

Draco scowled.  “I don’t want anyone to know that I’m doing this.  It protects Scorpius; everyone knows how dangerous undercover work is.”

Harry was skeptical, but he understood.  “Yes.  Agreed, it’ll be confidential.  You're sure you're up for this?”

Draco looked at the table as if taking in the situation, assessing whether he was sure he wanted to go through with this.  After a moment of introspection, he nodded and uttered a miracle.  Two words Harry had never expected a Malfoy to ever say.

“Thank you.”

The shocked silence Ginny and Harry let elapse seemed like a more appropriate response than _you’re welcome_.

Draco cleared his throat.  “When can I start?” 


	3. Things Promised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All aboard the Hogwarts Express!

The cacophony of the train station was nearly unbearable.  Between the bursts of steam hissing aggressively, the squeaking wheels of push carts, and the thud of heavy footfalls against the platform, Amelia was having a difficult time concentrating.  Her head still thrummed from her ordeal, and she felt extra sensitive as she stepped forward to board the train. Her father had escorted her to the platform, and now stood waiting nervously in a pressed blue button down.  He fidgeted with his hands, eyes following her with apprehensive encouragement.

Behind him, Amelia knew Harry Potter and the rest of the family were conversing with the Weasley clan.  Amelia had already greeted James, and she was tasked with finding a spot on the train for them. As she ascended the stairs, she caught a flash of white-blond hair out of the corner of her eye.  Afraid to look at who it was, she hastily disappeared into the safety of the train, where she could remain an elusive silhouette against the shaded windows. She knew she should talk to Scorpius, and she wanted to, but wasn’t ready yet. 

She’d found that her position on isolating Scorpius had shifted considerably in the last day or two.  It hadn’t taken long after she’d foreseen his mother’s death. She’d received quite a wake-up-call regarding her behavior, and now saw how much he’d been quietly suffering as a result of it.  At first, she’d seen their relationship as unsalvageable and assumed that was for the best, but not an hour after considering that position, she changed her mind again.

She finally admitted to herself she’d been wrong to abandon him this summer, and wanted very much to tell him so.  But before initiating that conversation, she needed to be fully prepared for him to reject her apology and never speak to her again.   It was what she deserved. It was also what she was afraid of, hence her current inaction.

Even though Amelia was not nearly late to board, many of the compartments were already full.  In the first one she passed, Victoire Weasley held court with a few other Gryffindor girls. She cut an intimidating but gorgeous figure in patched blue denim and clunky black boots.  She and her friends were chatting loudly about something that had happened in the station. The compartment door was still open, so Amelia couldn’t help but overhear.

“Caught snogging behind the platform barrier?  That’s on my bucket list. I can’t believe you did that, I’m so jealous, Victoire,” one of the girls sighed.  “You’re so lucky to have Teddy.”

Victoire flushed and twisted one of the silver studs in her right ear.  “It’s going to be weird this year without him. He’s already started work and I have a whole year left of school.”

“At least he can come visit on Hogsmeade weekends,” one of the other girls suggested, and this seemed to comfort Victoire.

Amelia didn’t stop to hear more, but continued to press along down the hallway.  She already knew about the romance between Teddy Lupin and Victoire; she’d met both of them last year and knew they’d been seeing each other for far longer than they publicly admitted.  Now, she supposed, they were official. She idly wondered if Albus had finally witnessed them kissing this time, and made a note to ask James later. When they’d talked at Christmas last year, apparently Albus had been hoping for proof of the relationship and had been repeatedly let down.  Albus’ fascination with this was now a joke between Amelia and James, although both of them secretly liked the idea of Victoire and Teddy getting together too. They just wouldn’t lurk in corners trying to catch them at it. Amelia liked to think she had  _ some _ decorum.

But it was a good match; Victoire was just as brave, caring, and rebellious as he was, and Teddy was incredibly thoughtful, Amelia mused as she continued to browse for an empty compartment.  Just a few months earlier, in the battle that had ensured Bridget’s escape from possession by her evil ancestor, Amelia’s wand had intercepted a curse and sustained severe damage. Teddy had not only given her a spare wand he’d found as a replacement, but had offered to repair her original wand as part of his job working at Ollivander’s.

She hadn’t heard anything more about the repairs, but she assumed Teddy was still working on it, and it might be rude to ask about it this early on.  She had no concept of how long repairing a wand could take. Or if it would even be possible.

Thankfully, her replacement want seemed to be a rather good fit.  Sometimes wands could be incompatible with new masters who hadn’t won them, as she’d learned from hearing the stories James told her, but this didn’t seem to be a problem for her.  Sparks didn’t fly when she gripped the wand, but it was still maneuverable, and she was eager to try a few spells now that she was leaving the Muggle world. Not being able to use her magic all summer had been a drag, but thanks to Teddy, she was equipped to start her second year at Hogwarts fully prepared instead of wandless.

She wondered if Victoire ever visited Teddy at Ollivanders, perhaps perching on the dusty counter, her hair luminously reflecting the dim lamps, his hair changing from blue to pink when he caught sight of her.  It was a nice thought, but strange to consider when Amelia remembered they were not that much older than her. When she was a seventh year, would she be like that? Confident and happy? Sneaking behind train station barriers to kiss someone?

She passed the compartment that she and her friends had shared on the ride home this past June, and it was then that she thought, irresponsibly, about Scorpius.  The last time she’d been on the Hogwarts Express, he had sat beside her while Bridget, Bean, and James wrestled with a wayward chocolate frog. Amid the commotion and the inertia from their difficult first year, Scorpius had confessed to having a crush on Amelia, but they’d been interrupted before the conversation could go any further.  This was somewhat of a relief to Amelia, who hadn’t been prepared for that admission, but it complicated things now that she hadn’t written to Scorpius all summer. It occurred to her that perhaps he thought his confession was the reason for her radio silence, and she suddenly wished she could explain. It wasn’t that, not at all.

The next few compartments were nearly all occupied by nervous, overachieving first years already wearing their robes.  Amelia, who was wearing jeans and a yellow ruffled top, smiled knowingly; it was a relief that she wouldn’t have to experience the nerves about Hogwarts and the Sorting she’d experienced last year.

It wasn’t an all-encompassing relief, though. She had other things to worry about this time.

At last, she found an empty compartment toward the back of the train, with the one across from it vacant as well.  She claimed the one on her right by stowing her trunk above on the rack, and then deposited the canvas bag that held her robes, a book, and her wand onto the seat.  She sat down, reveling in the small amount of alone time she’d have before James and Bean arrived. She wondered if Scorpius would sit with them. Some part of her hoped he would, but it was unlikely.  And some part of her was still nervous about rekindling any friendship with him, if her prophecy about him going to a path of dark magic was true. But she fought to suppress that fear; she owed him that, at least.

The lights in the golden sconces above her head flickered, aggravating the post-prediction headache that still lurked underneath her consciousness.  She rubbed her temples, glad today wasn’t as social as last year had been. She had a good excuse to miss out on the exchanging of pleasantries; her father had expressly ordered her to find solace and quiet until she was fully recovered.

“Take care of yourself this year,” he’d urged as they stood in King’s Cross, just before running through the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10.  “If this happens again, you know what to do. Avoid strangers and stimuli, and get somewhere safe with people you trust. Don’t push yourself to do things if you’re not well enough.  Promise me,” he’d said sternly.

She’d already had this conversation with him four times.  “I promise.”

“Thank you,” he sighed, gripping her hands in his.  “And what are you going to do as soon as you get to Hogwarts?”

Amelia knew the answer; he’d been quizzing her all morning.  “See Trelawney, tell her what happened.”

“And what specifically?”

“That I remembered a prophecy.  And predicted a death,” she recited in a monotone.

“Feel free to be more specific, Amelia,” her father said wearily.

“Okay.  Can we go now?”

“Yes.  Write to me.  Don’t keep me in the dark.  I’m not a wizard, but I’m your father and sometimes that’s better.”

“Okay, I will.”

Looking back on the conversation, Amelia knew she’d been bored and annoyed at the repetition of her father’s worrying questions, since she already knew everything he was telling her.  But deep down, she knew the situation was serious and important. Amelia was Harbinger of Death, and that made her unlike most other kids. She had a responsibility to hone her gift, not only because it could help other people, but also because it would make her life easier to navigate.  She hoped she could someday control the visions so the side effects didn’t render her incapable of doing anything for days afterward. She would appreciate ditching the headaches, at the least.

At the sound of a door sliding open, she looked up to see James and Bean filing into the compartment to sit with her.  After depositing their trunks on the rack, James sat down next to her while Bean took the seat opposite.

“Good to see you,” Amelia grinned at Bean.  It was true; he was a welcome sight after a whole summer apart.  She took in his tall frame; he was still gangly, and even skinnier, if that was possible.  He kept his mouth closed as he returned her smile, and she knew it was to hide his fangs. He didn’t have to, as she’d told him in letters over the summer, but he did it anyway.  They knew he was a half-vampire, but it was clearly still difficult for him to be open about it. With the help of Teddy, Bean had managed to conceal the truth from his friends for the better part of their first year, but eventually Amelia and James discovered his secret.  After he’d sacrificed his amulet, the Bloodstone, last year to save all of them in the Forbidden Forest, its curative, humanizing effects couldn’t stave off his nature anymore.

Luckily, Bean’s father, a vampire living in Salem, had spent the summer teaching him control and some coping mechanisms.  He’d also taught Bean how to feed on animal blood, but Bean had courteously spared Amelia and James further details there.

“It’s good to see you too,” Bean answered, running a hand through his red hair.  “It’s good to be back. I like Salem, but it’s not the same.”

“Oh!  You missed it, Amelia,” James said, “Bean got attacked by my grandad before we got on the train.”

“ _ What? _ ”

“He thought I was one of his grandchildren and tried to give me a hug.  I guess I have the Weasley hair. Apparently it’s an easy mistake to make.”

“It was bound to happen,” added James.

Amelia giggled at the thought.  Given how big the Weasley family was, she couldn’t fault James’ grandfather for being rather liberal with hugs.  It was better to greet people who weren’t actually related than it was to forget about someone who was.

Her attention was then drawn back to the hallway, where Albus Potter, Rose Weasley, and a boy Amelia didn’t recognize entered the compartment opposite them.  The train was filling up quickly now, and Amelia wondered if Scorpius was here, somewhere, amid the steam and babbling crowds. Perhaps he was sitting alone, or with strangers who would ask who he was and then pity him when they heard his last name.  It must be tough to be a Malfoy right now, because of the family’s dark past and because of the latest obituary column in the Daily Prophet.

Something ached in her chest at the thought, like compressed, guilty empathy.

The warning whistle from the train startled her out of her thoughts, where she found Bean and James discussing Quidditch tryouts.  They talked about this for several minutes, highlighting some of the moves they’d learned under Ginny Potter’s tutelage this summer and promising to show Bean once they had the opportunity.

But Amelia was then distracted again, because at that moment, Scorpius glided into view on the other side of the glass, pulling a shiny silver braced trunk in his wake.  He was wearing black from head to toe, his long sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was terribly pale, as if he hadn’t seen sunlight all summer. He fluidly examined the two compartments with his light eyes, but his expression held no recognition as he noted who sat in each.  There was no acknowledgement in his gaze, not even when James and Bean waved at him. He was a million miles away. The moment seemed to last forever as he stood there, paused on the knife’s edge of deciding where to sit. And then his eyes found hers.

Without thinking, Amelia stood silently, trying to communicate a million things with her eyes.  She felt her neck prickle with anxious warmth, overwhelmed by how much she wanted to say to him, and how little she could articulate through a wordless apology.

He held her gaze, though no anger crossed his sharp features.  His face was the epitome of disconnected interest, and it did not waver.  Then, the moment passed, and he cast his eyes back to the other compartment.  He took a visible breath and without looking back at her, slid open the door to Albus’ compartment and stepped inside.  The glass door closed behind him, and the sound seemed far louder than it had any right to be. In that moment, it was clear he was resolved they would not be friends again, and he dared not to hope for a welcome in their compartment.

Amelia should have been prepared for how much it crushed her, but she wasn’t.  Her knees wobbled and she fell back onto her seat, only able to stare at her shoes.  James and Bean had stopped talking, watching her carefully. It was obvious they’d witnessed the entire interaction.  Amelia compulsively looked back across the aisle to the other compartment, to find that, either intentionally or forgetfully, Scorpius had not closed the blinds.  The glass offered a view of him as he sat stiffly beside Albus and shook hands with Rose and the other boy. He glanced up at Amelia once, eyes piercing and lonely, and his expression momentarily awash with an emotion she couldn’t place.  Then he cast his eyes down, and did not look at her again.

“Are you going to tell him?”

She turned toward James’ voice.  He was eying her nervously.

“About what?”

When she examined her feelings, they couldn’t be consolidated, and that left her feeling very out of place.  There was too much she wanted to tell Scorpius, but she didn’t know to which one James was referring.

“About the prophecy,” Bean clarified.

“When I saw him acting evil?  Standing over a body? Fighting against us?”

The boys exchanged a look.  “We meant the other one,” Bean said.  “The one about his mom.”

Amelia blinked at James.  “You  _ told _ him?”

James nodded uncertainly, as if unsure if he should apologize.

“Nobody else was supposed to know!  How do you think Scorpius would feel if he found out what I saw?  Or that I remembered it?”

“Well, given that it’s clearly changed your mind about how much distance we should put between ourselves and him, I’d say it would be important for him to know,” countered James.

“He can never find out.”  She stubbornly crossed her arms.

“Okay, then,” James muttered.  “We’ll do nothing. We’ll just let him sit over there and tell Albus how great Slytherin is and they’ll go off and be friends and Scorpius can hate us forever in peace.”

“Amelia, are your prophecies ever…wrong?” Bean asked gently.

“Not so far,” she murmured.

“Well, what if us isolating Scorpius all summer is what makes him go dark?  On top of losing his mom, he didn’t have anyone there for him besides his dad.  And we all know what he’s like. I’m worried the damage is already done,” Bean confessed, rubbing his palms against his knees, “but I wanted to know if there’s hope.  I just feel really bad about this whole situation.”

“Me too,” James and Amelia said at the same time.

“He clearly doesn’t want anything to do with us,” Amelia followed up, “I mean, look at him.”

They did.  Scorpius sat, quiet and perfectly postured, staring out the window at the platform.  To the untrained eye, he appeared relaxed. But Amelia recognized the tightness in his shoulders he used to get when someone mentioned his father last year, back when Draco Malfoy hadn’t written to him for weeks after Scorpius had been sorted into Gryffindor. 

Scorpius was like an iceberg sometimes.  A lot lurked beyond the surface, and he only presented a small portion of it.  He never presented the hurt or dangerous parts of him. He could be plotting to kill them right now and they’d never know it.

_ Or _ , some part of her mind suggested,  _ he could be missing you and you’d never know it. _

Amelia wasn’t sure which hurt more.

Bean had a point.  Perhaps they’d created a self-fulfilling prophecy, if hers were never wrong.  By seeking to avoid darkness from seeping into their friendship, they’d severed the ties, only to find that perhaps that action was what set the darkness in motion in the first place.

The train gave a final whistle and, with much fanfare from the crowd of parents outside, it lurched forward in a gust of white steam.  Amelia’s head bumped against the seat, and her headache flared for a moment. While the boys stood to face the window and waved, she closed her eyes, waiting for it to pass, and after the train achieved enough momentum to pull slowly away from the station, it did.  She took her turn to lean toward the window for one last look, and noticed Draco Malfoy first, distinct in his long sleeves, all black robes, and general air of misery. Standing a little in front of him, she saw her father, the Potters, and the Weasleys. Her father was waving…at the wrong compartment.  She smiled; at least he was trying. She was going to miss him. 

The repeated chugging noise of the train picking up in speed in the background temporarily suspended conversation.  With only the train to listen to, the rhythmic sound shook a memory loose from her brain.

_ One does not interfere with Fate, _ Professor Trelawney had said to her, eyes ridiculously magnified by her thick spectacles.  Amelia could almost smell the intense floral perfume, feel the tickle of air against her skin as the professor dramatically adjusted her gauzy shawl.

Perhaps Trelawney’s warning was supposed to have guided her reaction to Scorpius’ prophecy.  Was it too late to change that course?

Once they’d been riding in relative quiet for some time, Amelia turned to the boys again, feeling newly determined.  “Look. I’m not going to try to stop the prophecy anymore. It’s going to happen in some way, whether we like it or not.  But there’s a lot we don’t know about the circumstances of what I saw. Maybe it’s not what we think. But in any case, I don’t think Scorpius is lost.  We can still save him. I gave up on him this summer and convinced you to join me. I shouldn’t have, I was wrong to do that. But I’m not going to give up on him again.”

James fidgeted with his hands and nodded.  “You’re right. I feel terrible for not being there when he needed us.  But we can be here for him from now on.”

“We can’t change the past,” added Bean, his finger up as if reciting a proverb, “but we can change directions and change the  _ path _ .”

James stared at him in surprise.  “That was…really deep.”

He shrugged.  “My dad knows a lot of old sayings.  I learned a lot of them this summer.”

The train ride seemed to progress faster this time.  Amelia heard once that a journey you’ve made before feels like it takes less time because your brain recognizes it, and figured there was some truth in it. 

In almost no time, the kind old lady pushing the snack trolley ambled down the aisle, and everyone except Bean and Scorpius got out of their seats to purchase something.

James and Amelia both bought chocolate frogs, as homage to their emerging Hogwarts Express tradition, and contentedly examined their cards depicting famous witches and wizards.  Amelia was pleased to find hers was one she hadn’t collected before – Sirius Black, a name she recognized from Bridget’s chocolate frog card last year, but someone she didn’t know much about.  James happily tucked a Kingsley Shacklebolt card into his pocket, happy to have finally scored the current Minister of Magic, a rare find.

Bean pulled a green thermos from his bag and took a discreet sip, careful to angle his head away from the compartment door so no one would see the deep red on his lips or a flash of fang.  He bent to stow the thermos again in his tiny cross-body pouch, a clear reminder this was all he’d brought for the journey. Amelia felt a pang of pity, knowing that Scorpius wasn’t able to eat regular food or enjoy sweets from the trolley, but he didn’t seem to mind that much.  He even wrinkled his nose at the smell of James’ chocolate frog, which had just, rather rudely, leaped from James’ grip and onto Bean’s shoulder.

“Get it off, get it off,” he flinched, mock-annoyed.  James was rendered clumsy from laughing, and it took him a few stumbling tries to catch the frog as it jumped from Bean’s shoulder to the seat to the window.  Finally, with a rather violent slamming noise, James emerged from the window, red-faced and delighted, holding his prize. Amelia watched this with amusement, glad her own frog hadn’t been quite as eager to escape.

She felt buoyant for a moment, before she remembered Scorpius and the happiness in her chest deflated as if punctured.  Her eyes slowly wandered back to him, unable to resist. He seemed to have crumpled against the back of his seat, his previously rigid pose seemingly too exhausting to maintain.  After all, no one can hold a disguise forever. He was listening to Albus and Rose talk, occasionally chiming in or turning to the other boy to ask a question, but his heart didn’t appear to be in it.  Though he was surrounded by people, Amelia thought he’d never looked more alone.

She set her jaw, the residue of chocolate at the back of her throat suddenly burning like pepper.  She was resolved. Glass separated them now, but she was determined to shatter the barrier between them somehow.

_ You’ve lost so much, but you’re not going to lose me, or James, or Bean again. _

She wished he could hear her thoughts, but knew it was futile.  She’d have to make this known with more than empty words. She had a whole year ahead of her with opportunities to show him with actions, with presence, with care.

James, who followed her intense gaze, seemed to be thinking the same thing.  “I don’t care how much he avoids us, I won’t stop trying.”

“Me too,” Amelia sighed.  “We’d better start making a plan.”


End file.
